The Red Mill
by XxxKyroKyroxxX
Summary: Ludwig goes to France in search of love, meeting up with a horny angel, an annoyed nun, a fangirling conquistador, a drunk Prussian, a musical Austrian, and a beautiful girl named Feliciana. Just, what exactly is going on..?


****HHEEEELLLOOOOOO PEOPLE!

Yes, I am starting a new story!

I feel so awkward because the only stories I have written are ones that come off of Movies.. I'm such an idea stealer..

But, ANYWAY!, this one is going to be Moulin Rouge!

**DISCLAIMER - If I owned Hetalia, Canada would be almost as awesome as Prussia. And his bear would remember his name.**

**M-O-U-L-I-N_R-O-U-G-E_P-A-R-T_O-N-E**

It's the year of 1895, where I just got off the train from Germany to France. I'm here in search of many things, freedom, taste, the sense of independence.. and one more thing. Love. I've been addicted to that word ever since I learned it—and that was very little. Perhaps I was five when my dad first told me about it. No matter. I put on my hat, clutching my suit case, and looking for a map on the brick wall of the station. France sure keeps his places clean, I should have figured. A place where love is first, they think of the atmosphere. Smart. The map is placed in a plastic covering, two light-bulbs near the black boarders to illuminate it in the dark. I notice that where I'm heading to is underneath a small symbol of a red mill. I squint my eyes and wonder what it means, but decide not to ask anything.

I pick up my white suitcase, and start to walk into the station. A small line is formed in front of one of the stands, and so wait until it's my turn. I didn't notice it a couple of seconds before, but the whole session is full of rose petals everywhere. Large vines drape over the sign _Transport des personnes__._ I clear my throat, and ask her how to get to the red mill.

"Take one of the black cars, Monsier." Without missing a beat, she smirks lightly, her large brown hair framing her face, and points to her left. My right. I find it odd of her smirk—what's so interesting about this red mill?

I thank her anyway, and start to walk toward the cars. As the man enters into the car after putting my luggage into the back, he asks, "Bonjour, Monsier. Where to?"

"The red mill." Yes, I have a German accent—I'm from Germany, didn't I say that before?

Like the lady with all the roses, he laughs with a small smirk, and with clouded thoughts. "Ohonhonhon. Oui, oui.. Of course, Monsier. The _Moulin Rouge._ May I ask if you're going to see the Diamond Dogs tonight?"

"Pardon?"

"The Diamond Dogs." He looks at me with concern, as if I was someone who was speaking a different language than him. "I believe they are performing tonight, oui?"

I decide to play along. "Yes. Of course."

He goes off about saying how beautiful all the girls are, how seductive they are, and I tune him out, staring out at the window. The streets are crowded with people, singing and dancing—so much different than Germany. After a couple of minutes, more and more flashy lights start to appear, before I reach toward the hotel that I'm staying at. I thank him, giving him the francs for the ride, before going into my room.

**L-I-N-E_G-O-E-S_H-E-R-E**

My room is actually pretty big for what I have expected, with a large window that leads to a balcony. The name of the hotel covers part of the ledge that comes along with my room, but I don't mind. There's a desk and a type writer here, a bed in the back, a full kitchen, and a large closet. Fortunately, I brought only necessary clothes for a couple of days, so I'm going to have to buy some later if they don't dry in time. From the balcony, you can see the Red Mill (is it the Moulin Rouge that man was talking about?) and the sun starting to dip down. I decide to test out the desk and see if it is stable for my constant writing, and now that I finally found a quiet place to work on, I will be writing furiously. As I check the typewritter for any flaws, I suddenly hear a large crack, and dust comes out of my room.

Standing there—or should I say hanging?—is an upside down Spanish man that looks as if he's _sleeping_, being hung by a cord onto his ankle. I gasp in surprise as he snores loudly.

But even to more of my surprise, a small English teen, but about the same age as the hanging man comes in dressed up as a nun! "I'm terribly sorry, sir. Oh so terribly sorry!" He starts to off about what the spaniard has. "He has narcolepsy, when you're active one moment, and suddenly you fall asleep at random moments!"

At this time, three heads poke out of my roof, all dressed up in random costumes. "Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry for this to have happened!"

"It's.. not a problem." I manage to say. What exactly do you say to people who have just broken your roof of the hotel room you're staying in? "I'm sure I can have someone clean it up."

"He.. sounds.. nice.." The Spanish man grumbles in his sleep. All I can do, is inch away.

One of the men who are looking down at me from their room, grins. "Bring him up here, oui? I'd like to take a look at him."

"Come along then," The English nun pries me to come along with him. "I'd like you to see my friends who have caused you so much trouble."

Upstairs, the blonde man who has requested me to come, grins. "He is magnifique! Perfect!"

"W-what?" I studder. I'm not one to do so, but this french man dressed up as an angel is scaring me with his panting breath. "Perfect for what?"

Before I got an answer from the french man, the nun pounds his head, and he gets knocked out. "You freaking perv! You bloody git, I should pound you until you die!"

Meanwhile, a tall man with black hair sighs as a drunken albino curses loudly, leaning ontop of him. "I'm very sorry about this. You see, Arthur doesn't get along very well with Francis." He points at the nun and the angel. "But hello, my name is Roderich. I'm from Austria. This is my drunken friend named Gilbert. He's from Prussia."

"Nice to meet you." I'm not very pleased, so I can't really lie and so so. "My name is Ludwig, and I'm from Germany."

"You bloody pervert!" The nun strangles the angel.

"_Englaterre.. Mon ami.. you're choking moi.._" The angel can only sputter out.

"We should.. pull.. Antonio.. up.." The Prussian slurrs before falling to the floor, unconcious. The Austrian pulls him back up with great difficulty, and I watch as the forgotten Spaniard swings slowly back and forth, his hands dangling. The Prussian is thrown onto the couch and the Austrian pulls the Spanish up. I help him also, then grabbing the young adult and carrying him toward the metal bed. Gilbert vomits on the floor, before wiping his chin with his sleeve, and passing out on one of the pillows stacked ontop of the leather couch. By now, the nun has tired out, breathing heavily, and the french man laying on the floor with his face crushed.

"Let's get to work, okay?" Roderich sighs. Arthur—or Francis, I don't know whose who—nods, and picks up the other.

**L-I-N-E_G-O-E-S_H-E-R-E**

"_The hills are alive! With the sound of melody!_" Roderich sings.

"No no no," Francis—seriously, who is who?—murmurs. "How about, _the hills are alive with the sound of.. earthquake?_"

"Francis, from a guy that's from here, you suck terribly at writing poetry." Oh. So the nun is Arthur.

"_Moi?_ Ha! I laugh, little man. I laugh."

"Hey! I'm not little! I'm just two centimeters smaller than you!" The nun growls.

"_The hills are alive with vomiting_!" Gilbert yells, before vomiting again. Instead, he vomits onto his clothes, and passes out.

I take a deep breath, before yelling out. "Guys! How about, _The hills are alive! With the sound of music!_"

"That works.." Arthur looks at me. I cough awkwardly as Francis's mouth starts to bleed from the sucker punch Arthur gave him while they were picking a fight.

"Are you sure you don't want to get a doctor for him..?"

"No, he'll be fine." Arthur waves his hand dismissively, and gasps as Antonio—the unconcious Spaniard—wakes up.

"It's beautiful! Elegant and prectique! Si, perfect!" He grins with white teeth, before opening his eyes. Large emerald eyes stare at me, and I blink.

"..Hi?"

"_Buenas noches, senior_!" Antonio gleams. "That was some lovely singing of yours!"

"I'm just a poet." I cough, again, nervously.

"You have to show Ms. Feli your singing!" He grins again. I blink heavily.

"Who?"

"The most famous girl in France, _mon ami_!" Francis voice echoes.

I shake my head quietly, trying to understand. "What do you guys mean?"

"The Moulin Rouge," Antonio is dressed as a conquistador, a large cape attatched to his shoulders. "It is the place of the party, you should say. Girls do the can-can there,"

"Precious beauties that only France has to offer!" Francis woos. Antonio growls at him as he continues to speak.

"And there is one that stands out the most." His serious face comically turns red as he fangasms, his hands grasp his cheeks and he shakes his head. "It's my Lovi—how adorable she is!"

"Idiot, we all know who is the Diamond there, and it is _certainly_ not her! And speaking of which, that girl thinks you're just another guy lusting over her!" Arthur takes off his nun hat, and throws it at him, colliding with his face. What do you even _call_ those things? He turns back to me. "Her name is Feliciana, the _Diamond_ of Roman Man."

"Roman Man?" I tilt my head.

"That's her father. I think." Roderich sighs. He goes back to tuning his violin.

"Yeah, Roman Man is the head of whatever happens in the Moulin Rouge. You could say he's their leader." Antonio smirks. I inch backwards. He fangasms again. "And Lovi is Ms. Feli's older sister and she's so adorable when she laughs evilly at me!"

Francis hands me a bottle of wine, and salutes. "Cheers for our new poet!"

And this is how I end up going from a vacation, to trying to impress the _Diamond._ Feliciana, I hope you like it. I chug down the whole bottle.

**E-N-D_H-E-R-E**

****Did you guys like it?

I don't know, If I don't get a lot of reviews I might as well call it done. This is my first Hetlia fic to begin with, ne?

(I feel so much like a Brazilian right now saying 'ne')

Please **REVIEW!**


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